


A Better Blend

by CitrusVanille



Category: McFly
Genre: M/M, Sex-like happenings, Slash, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-07
Updated: 2009-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 17:53:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5937501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CitrusVanille/pseuds/CitrusVanille
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tom leaves Harry asleep in front of the television to investigate the series of small crashes that had jerked him out of his doze, he's not sure what he was expecting to find, but it certainly wasn't this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Better Blend

**Author's Note:**

>  3,673 words. Thanks to [](http://figletofvenice.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://figletofvenice.livejournal.com/)figletofvenice, as always, for being a lovely beta. This is a result of the two of us going to one of the final games at the old Yankee Stadium and not really watching the game in favour of yattering about McFly, as you do, and coming up with ridiculous smushed-names for all the possible threesomes (this one is now fondly known as Flonter or Floyntones). It's entirely possible we pissed off the people around us, but I certainly had a good time. It's not like either of our teams were playing, anyway.

When Tom leaves Harry asleep in front of the television to investigate the series of small crashes that had jerked him out of his doze, he’s not sure what he was expecting to find, but it certainly wasn’t this. He’d been prepared to find the door of the microwave blown off again, and maybe half-burnt popcorn scattered around the room, but his well-worn lecture on The Proper Use of Tom’s Kitchen dies in his throat before he even gets his mouth open.

Dougie’s jeans are down around his ankles and Danny’s got him half on the table – one hand up the back of his shirt, the other down the front of his boxers – and they’re connected at the mouth, eyes closed, all lips and teeth and Tom’s pretty sure he can see tongue. And Tom knows he should do something – back away silently and never mention this to anyone ever, or loudly complain about their misuse of his kitchen and tell them to get a room or lock themselves in a toilet or something – but he’s rooted to the spot and can’t stop fucking _staring_.

Tom hasn’t let himself go down the path of fantasizing about his bandmates in a while – has been trying to keep them all placed firmly in the ‘friends only’ category in his brain for years. Granted, his success has always been somewhat limited, but it’s gotten a little easier with practice, and he’s older now, has better control of himself. But this. This just isn’t fair. They’re in his fucking kitchen and they’re fucking hot as hell, and –

Dougie has his hands tangled up in Danny’s hair, and when Danny’s wrist twists right where it vanishes into Dougie’s boxers, Dougie’s fingers clench and he lets out a low groan, the sound so much deeper than Tom would have expected from him. It goes straight to Tom’s cock.

And now, now would be the perfect time for Tom to beat a hasty retreat. To go lock himself in his bedroom and get himself off fast and hard – which would be nothing like a problem right now, and who the hell invented fucking skinny jeans, anyway, they are clearly a menace to society – and then pretend none of this happened. But Dougie groans again, and Tom must make some kind of sound in response, because Dougie and Danny jerk apart, and suddenly. Suddenly there are two pairs of eyes, dark with dilated pupils, staring at Tom. Danny’s still got his hand down Dougie’s pants and both their lips are red and wet and swollen. They should be fucking illegal.

Tom opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. And, really, this wouldn’t be nearly as awkward if he could just laugh it off, but he can’t think of a single thing to say that isn’t blatantly self-incriminating, and it’s just getting worse as the seconds tick silently by.

Danny’s gaze sweeps Tom up and down, and Tom _knows_ how obvious it is that he’s hard as hell. He can feel his face going bright red – which is pretty impressive, considering he’s pretty sure most of the blood in his body is currently residing in his cock – and this is possibly the most embarrassing moment of his entire life, and he _still cannot think of a damned thing to say_.

“Dan,” Dougie says – practically whines, and fuck it, but with his voice raw like that, even Dougie’s _whine_ is hot – and he tugs on Danny’s hair.

Danny flicks a glance at him, then back to Tom, quirking a smile that makes Tom’s blood race. “Come here,” he says, and Tom. Tom almost chokes, he inhales so hard, because that – that’s the voice Danny uses to pull.

“I don’t –” Tom tries to say, has no idea what’s going on.

“ _Tom_ ,” Dougie’s voice has switched over to pleading really quickly, and he’s shifting his hips like he’s trying to goad Danny into moving his hand again.

“I,” Tom tries again, because, really, what?

“Get your arse over here,” Dougie grits out, and it still somehow manages to sound like he’s begging as he untangles one hand from Danny’s hair and reaches out like he can drag Tom closer by the force of his will. And Tom actually takes two steps in, so maybe he can.

“I really don’t know what –” Tom’s finally getting words out, but Danny cuts him off.

“You want us,” Danny says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And we want you.” 

And Tom. Well. Yes. Fuck yes. But _what_?

Danny cocks his head a little to one side, like he can read Tom’s mind. Tom’s not sure that’s a good thing. “Did you really think we’d just dump all of your silverware in your sink and then shag in your kitchen with Harry dead to the world and you only half-asleep in the next room?” Danny asks.

“What,” Tom starts, but his brain is still having trouble processing, and the impatient movement of Dougie’s hips is distracting.

“We got tired of waiting for you to walk in on your own,” Dougie says, voice rough, a little broken, still pleading, hips pushing up into Danny’s motionless hand. “It’s been _weeks_.” He twitches his outstretched fingers at Tom, makes a noise low in his throat.

“So get over here and help me get Dougie off, and then I’ll blow you,” Danny says, and Tom’s not sure how to answer that, thinks his eyes might be about to pop out of his head, but Dougie says,

“Yes, God, please, Tom, please,” and he’s fucking _moaning_ , and there’s just no way in hell Tom can say no to that – no way in hell he’d _want_ to.

Tom crosses the last few feet between them and covers Dougie’s hand on the back of Danny’s neck, dragging Danny in for a hard kiss. The angle is awkward with Danny’s hands still tangled in Dougie’s clothes, but Tom really doesn’t care at this point. “I’m going to hold you to that,” he whispers against Danny’s lips.

And then Dougie’s using his free hand to haul Tom around for a kiss of his own. Tom snakes a hand into Dougie’s boxers to join Danny’s and Dougie hisses against his mouth, bites at his bottom lip, and fucking _whimpers_ , Danny’s teeth sinking into the nape of Tom’s neck at the same time. Tom groans into Dougie’s mouth, lets him swallow the sound and meet it with his own.

“He likes it a little bit rough,” Danny’s voice is low, lips brushing over Tom’s ear, sending shivers down Tom’s spine.

“Nygh,” Tom tells Dougie’s lips, and _fuck_ he’s hard and he really, really hates his jeans, because they have _no give_ , but. He tightens his fingers around Dougie’s cock, feels Danny do the same, their fingers overlapping, and Tom can feel the high-pitched sound Dougie makes vibrating across his tongue.

“Fuck, Tom, fuck, please, please, please,” Dougie’s hips are twisting almost frantically against the table as Tom and Danny jerk him off. One of Dougie’s hands has wormed its way up under Tom’s shirt, short nails scraping across Tom’s stomach, making him shudder.

Danny shifts, and Tom is suddenly in the middle, wedged between Dougie’s knees, Danny’s arms wrapped around him as one continues to move with his on Dougie’s cock, the other fumbling at Tom’s belt. Tom presses in closer to Dougie, and Danny follows, chest against his back. Danny’s still fighting to get Tom’s belt open one-handed, and Tom wants to help, he does, he’s so hard it hurts, and he _wants_. But he doesn’t seem to have a hand free, can’t stop touching Dougie, who’s making the most amazing noises, and some tiny part of Tom wishes he could record it, but.

“Dan – Danny – Tom, please, I, please,” Dougie isn’t even trying to kiss Tom anymore, just panting heavily against his jaw as he pushes against him.

Tom’s not sure when it happened but his other hand is up the back of Dougie’s shirt, hitching the material up in front as his fingertips dig in hard along Dougie’s spine, finding the natural indentations between vertebrae. Dougie’s skin is smooth and hot and slick with sweat, and Tom just digs in harder, feels Dougie shudder against him, and hopes he leaves bruises.

“Oh, God, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” Dougie swears when Danny speeds up, taking Tom’s hand with him. Tom can feel the rough drag, barely eased by sweat and precome, knows it must be only just this side of painful. But Dougie’s shaking against him, cursing viciously into the side of Tom’s neck, and it’s enough to make Tom go even rougher, faster, just to feel the way Dougie muffles his cry in Tom’s skin.

Then Danny gets Tom’s belt open – finally, finally – and the button on his jeans, the zip, and – _holy fuck_ – Tom’s hips snap up into Danny’s hand, and Danny’s laughing low against his ear, sending shock waves racing through Tom’s veins. He shoves back against Danny, hears the way Danny’s voice breaks as Tom’s arse grinds into his cock, and Danny’s fingers tighten in response.

And Tom can’t help it, leans in and bites down hard on Dougie’s collarbone, and that’s it for Dougie. Tom feels him shudder under him, jerking as he comes over Danny’s and Tom’s combined hands, gasping and biting into Tom’s neck to keep from making any more noise. And, fuck, Tom really wishes he could see Dougie’s face right now, but next time, next time for sure – and he doesn’t even know if there’s going to _be_ a next time, but _god_ does he hope there will be.

Dougie stops shaking and slumps a little bonelessly against Tom, cheek pressed to Tom’s shoulder. His breathing is still a little jagged as it washes over Tom’s neck, making him shiver.

Tom slowly draws his hand out of Dougie’s boxers, still tangled with Danny’s, and he has no idea what makes him do it, but he brings their hands up to his mouth and licks, flicking his tongue across both their fingers. It doesn’t taste _good_ , it’s salty and a little bitter, but it’s not bad, and then he hears Danny groan – feels it where Danny’s pressed against him – so he does it again, swiping over the back of Danny’s hand and sucking their fingers into his mouth.

Dougie shifts, looks up, stares – pupils blown in wide eyes – and Tom just closes his own eyes and hums, feels Danny shake against him, hears Dougie’s soft moan, and then there’s another tongue against his on their hands, and when he opens his eyes Dougie’s are right there, and _fuck_.

Tom’s eyes slide shut again and Dougie kisses him – salty and bitter – and it’s suddenly the best taste in the world.

Danny makes some kind of noise deep in his chest, vibrating against Tom, and when he pulls his hand free of Tom’s boxers Tom can’t help but whine into Dougie’s mouth. Then there are hands – so many hands, where did they come from? – tugging down his jeans and boxers, pulling him away from Dougie’s mouth – Tom whines again, it’s not fair, Dougie has an amazing mouth – hauling his shirt off over his head, and turning him around so he’s facing Danny.

“I want –” Tom tries to say, tugging at Danny’s shirt – because _why_ is he still clothed? – but Danny cuts him off, kissing him quick and hard and dirty, before he can finish the thought.

Dougie makes a noise right next to Tom’s ear and Danny pulls away to look at him.

“Shirt, Dan, come on,” Dougie says, and pulls back himself for a moment, fabric rustling, and then he’s back, skin on skin against Tom’s back.

Danny grins wide, teeth flashing briefly as he yanks his own shirt up and off, letting it fall against the tiles under the table.

Dougie makes another noise, and Danny leans in, kissing him over Tom’s shoulder. Tom shudders at the full contact, pressed tight between them, and can’t stop the moan that bubbles over his lips.

“Better hold him tight,” Danny murmurs, and drops to his knees so fast it must hurt – but Tom can’t think about that, because Danny’s _mouth_ is on his _cock_ and _holy motherfucking shit_.

A strangled sort of noise rips itself from Tom’s chest. Dougie’s arms wrap around him from behind, holding him up, hands running down Tom’s sides, across his chest, his stomach. Tom’s head falls back onto Dougie’s shoulder, and Dougie presses his mouth against the crook of Tom’s neck, sucking a kiss into the skin right where it meets the shoulder.

“God, god, oh fucking hell,” Tom hears his own voice rasp, and he twitches, tries to keep his hips from jerking forward, tries to keep his hands at his sides, tries to be good.

Danny hums and licks up the underside of Tom’s cock, tongue flat against the vein, then wraps his lips around the head and sucks.

Tom groans and clutches at Dougie’s thighs – pressed tight against his sides – fingers digging in hard to keep from just grabbing Danny’s hair and fucking into his mouth so hard he chokes. “Dan – Dan – fuck, fuck, oh fuck,” he hisses, and shudders when Danny goes down farther.

Dougie’s teeth tug at Tom’s ear, fingers skating over every inch of Tom’s skin they can reach, and Tom moans.

“He’s so good at this,” Dougie breathes, nose in Tom’s hair, lips moving against his sweat-soaked skin. “And he loves it, _loves_ it, gets off on it – look at him.”

Tom manages to drag his eyes open – when did he close them? – and looks down. The sight of Danny, eyes closed, lips red and swollen and stretched perfectly over Tom’s cock is almost too much, and Tom honestly isn’t sure how it’s possible to be more turned on, but. Danny’s palming his own cock, jeans and boxers pushed down just enough, and Tom doesn’t want to tear his eyes away, but if he doesn’t this is going to be over far too soon.

“Oh, fuck, Danny,” he whispers, can’t seem to make his voice work properly.

Danny’s eyes sweep open and he looks up. He hums again, sending vibrations shooting through Tom’s entire body, and goes down, deep-throating. Tom’s hips jerk, and Danny doesn’t choke, but he does pull back and Tom _whimpers_ , feels like he’s going to die if he doesn’t come _right the fuck now_ – to hell with it being too soon, he can’t handle this. Danny – amazing, brilliant, talented Danny, with the mouth of a fucking _god_ – just braces one hand against Tom’s hip, holding him steady, and goes down again.

One of Tom’s hands has transferred itself to Danny’s shoulder, the other still gripping Dougie’s thigh, and his fingertips dig into muscle, matching the pressure Danny’s exerting on his hip.

“Danny Danny Danny,” Tom grips Danny’s shoulder even harder, trying to warn him, let him know how close he is, but he’s having trouble with words. “Danny, I’m – Danny, Danny, I’m gonna –”

Dougie’s teeth sink into Tom’s neck again right as Danny swallows around him, and Tom goes over the edge without any more warning, gasping and cursing, trembling. He can feel Danny swallowing again, which, _fuck_. Dougie’s arms are tight around him, which is good, because Tom doesn’t think his legs can support his whole weight just now. Danny’s hand drops from Tom’s hip as he pulls back, and Tom can hear Danny moan and swear and knows he’s coming, too, and that just makes Tom shudder harder in Dougie’s hold, shaking with aftershocks like he hasn’t in god knows how long.

It’s several minutes before he comes down, and when he finally opens his eyes, he’s half-sprawled across the table, still wrapped in Dougie’s arms, with Dougie murmuring nonsense soft and low against his shoulder. He can feel Danny’s head resting against his knee, fingers wrapped loosely around his ankle, and he really, really doesn’t want to move ever again.

A few minutes more, though, and the table is really fucking uncomfortable, and Danny’s on the floor, which can’t be any better. And Harry – fuck, _Harry_. Harry is still in the living room, but who knows if he’s still asleep or if he’s about to walk in and find the rest of his band naked and debauched in the fucking _kitchen_.

“We need to –” Tom starts, and _shit_ his voice sounds raw, “We need to clean up,” he tries again, sitting up and dragging Dougie with him.

Danny looks up at him from the floor, and he looks so completely fucked-out and amazing, that Tom can’t help but slide down to join him on the tiles and kiss him hard. And that’s _himself_ he can taste in Danny’s mouth, and it should be disgusting, but somehow it’s just hot – and then Dougie’s next to them again, managing to wiggle into both of their laps, and. Oh, god, Tom has to stop this now, or they’re never going to get out of here.

He drags himself away from Danny’s mouth, and stands, hauling the other two to their feet. “We have to –”

“Clean up,” Danny says. “Right.” He shuffles over to the counter to grab a handful of paper towels, offering half to Dougie, who has stepped out of his jeans and is shucking off his ruined boxers, nudging them under the table with his toes.

Tom stares for a moment, not even thinking about the fact that Dougie’s pushed his _boxers_ under the _table_ , just staring at all that skin, and Dougie smirks at him, pulling his jeans back up, wriggling his hips a bit like it’s a show.

Danny catches Tom by the back of the neck, turning him around. “Clean up, right?” he says, and leans in to kiss Tom, quick and chaste on the mouth, then releases him to do the same to Dougie before pulling his boxers up over his arse and doing up his jeans.

“Right,” Tom echoes, and yanks his own jeans back up. He fishes Dougie’s boxers out from under the table and chucks them in the bin – Dougie laughs at him, says, “What? You don’t want to keep them?” and ducks Danny’s swat to the head – before peering around for his shirt. “Where did you –” he starts to ask Danny, but Dougie’s already holding his shirt out to him. “Thanks,” Tom says, and tugs it over his head.

“Hmph,” Dougie says, and wraps his fingers in Tom’s shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. “That’s a proper thank you,” he says when he pulls away, voice muffled as he slips his own shirt over his head.

Danny laughs, and winks when Tom looks at him. “He’s well-trained,” Danny explains, and Dougie huffs indignantly.

Tom grins, feeling something relax in his chest that he didn’t even know was bothering him. Maybe this isn’t going to end here. He’s not entirely sure what Danny and Dougie have going on, but they clearly don’t mind his company as well, so. “Just need to give him some grooming tips,” Tom says, and reaches out to try to settle Dougie’s hair, which is never particularly neat, but is currently screaming ‘sex!’ in a far too obvious kind of way.

Dougie bats his hands away. “You’re one to talk,” he snaps, but his eyes are bright and laughing.

Tom’s hands immediately go to his own hair, but Danny yanks them away.

“Don’t,” he says. “Looks good on you,” and he kisses him, hard.

“Hey, me too,” Dougie pouts, and Danny laughs again, the sound sweet against Tom’s lips.

“Come here,” Tom says, turning away from Danny, and Dougie latches on, tongue sliding easily into Tom’s mouth.

Danny presses his lips to the back of Tom’s neck and hums.

Tom breaks away after a minute, panting a little, and extricates himself from between them. “We really, really need to go back out there, before Harry wakes up,” he says, and he really, really, _really_ hopes he’s right, and Harry is, in fact, still asleep.

“I don’t want –” says Dougie, but Danny looks at him and he shuts up.

Tom does a quick check to make sure none of them look too blatantly rumpled, takes a moment to cringe at the hickeys already appearing on Dougie’s neck and the ones he knows he’s probably covered with – and another moment to cross his fingers and hope Harry’s too out of it to notice – and shoos them out of the kitchen.

Harry – thank god – is exactly where Tom left him, but he stirs and blinks drowsily when the three of them settle around him again.

“I’m not sleeping,” he says, and yawns.

Tom breathes a silent sigh of relief that Harry isn’t asking where they were, and pats Harry’s knee. “Of course not,” he says, and meets Danny’s laughing eyes over Harry’s head.

The movie is almost over – and Harry still hasn’t said anything that might lead to uncomfortable explanations – when Dougie leans in on Tom’s other side and whispers, right against his ear, “So, can Danny and I spend the night?”

Tom makes a valiant effort to suppress a shiver, and turns to look Dougie straight in the eye.

Dougie looks almost shy, but his mouth quirks up in a grin, and –

“Yeah,” says Tom, so soft there’s barely any voice behind it. “Definitely.”

Dougie smirks at that. His eyes flick past Tom’s head for a moment – looking at Danny, Tom’s sure – and he nods, then looks back at Tom. “You sure?” he says, and deliberately licks his lips, slow and very nearly obscene. It’s not a question.

Tom swallows hard. “Consider it an invitation,” he says.

Dougie laughs aloud at that, and when Harry turns and asks what’s so funny, Dougie only laughs harder and buries his face in Tom’s shoulder.

“Seriously, this part really isn’t that funny,” Harry says, gesturing at the television, clearly confused, when Danny starts to snicker.

Tom can only shrug helplessly, and try to keep from laughing himself.


End file.
